


On The First Day Of Christmas...

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Drunkenness, Future Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use, University Years, boys, christmas in july, crack fic lets be honest, idiocy (me and them)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: It's the Christmas holidays and Rudge's parents are away - it would be remiss not to have a party!





	On The First Day Of Christmas...

**Author's Note:**

> OK so it's July and there's a heat wave... I started this in December, abandoned it, rediscovered it and it bit me so I finished it... I'm not saying it's great writing but I hope it makes you giggle ...
> 
>  
> 
> I am very mean to Rudge in this. In his defence, I make everything with bacon – bacon is the lazy cook’s flavour saviour!
> 
> I am also mean to Scripps (but what’s new), but I am aware that very Bad things can happen if you do coke with alcohol, don’t worry – basically, nobody should listen to Dakin.
> 
> And I've made Crowther a bit racist, but no more than he is in the film
> 
> Also, I’ve taken liberties with how strict both Posner and Akthar are/aren’t with religious rules. Basically, I’ve assumed that Posner is kosher and Akthar is halal… but not super strict about the rest of it….

 

 

Nobody’s sure whose idea it is in the end, but Rudge’s parents are away for Christmas and the opportunity of a free house is too good to pass up. They haven’t all been in a room together for at least six months and nobody opposes the idea.

 

Except for Akthar who was planning on staying in Oxford for the holidays.

 

“No one in my family celebrates and I need a better reason than a different religion to persuade me to share a bedroom with two children for a week. Anyway, if I go home I’m just asking to get lumped with babysitting every evening because my parents are going to jump on the opportunity to go out while they have the chance.”  

 

But that was before Timms phones at three o’clock every morning for a fortnight to ask him to reconsider. Eventually, he agrees.

 

“No amount of babysitting can be worse than this.” He groans defeat to Posner over lunch after yawning his way through a seminar.

 

It’s arranged that they’ll have a Christmas party and reunion at Rudge’s parents’ place, and Rudge, who has recently discovered a love of cooking, offers to do the food - provided they chip in a few quid each. The only exception is Timms who offers to bring dessert because Rudge ‘s culinary skills don’t stretch that far (“I just don’t like pudding” He shrugs at a bewildered Dakin one day).

 

Dakin, who is tasked with bringing the music, has a brief strop and threatens not to come when he’s unanimously barred from bringing his new girlfriend along (“It’s supposed to be a lads reunion, not an evening of trying to avoid watching you tongue wrestling), but by the first week of December they’ve split up anyway and he forgets about his threat to boycott them.

 

*****

 

Posner is back working at the bookshop over the break and turns up starving and a bit later than he’d have liked, thanks to the last minute Christmas rush. He wasn’t 100% confident about the prospect of a meal cooked by Rudge but walking up the driveway his mouth waters at the wonderful smells coming out of the house.

 

The music is… definitely not what he expected. It _sounds_ like the Jackson 5.

 

“Something smells good. “ He grins. “I had to skip lunch, I’m starving!”

 

In the living room, Akthar is wearing a wonky paper crown and a scowl. “Forget it, Pos.” He growls, “there’s no food”

 

“He made everything with pork.” Scripps pipes up, in response to his puzzled look at the dinner table piled up with food.

 

“What, everything?”

 

“Sausage rolls, stuffing, pigs in blankets, turkey wrapped in bacon, sprouts and potatoes **sautéed with bacon**!”

 

“Bacon is nice” Rudge mumbles.

 

“And for vegetarian options - quiche lorraine, pastry made with lard, pork scratching crisps!” Akthar rages.

 

“I thought it was beef you couldn’t eat...”

 

“That’s fucking Hindus you twonk!!”

 

Rudge looks really miserable. “I said sorry. Posner can eat though.”

 

“Jewish people can’t eat fucking pork either!”

 

“What?” Rudge’s face falls.

 

Screams of laughter from Lockwood and Timms make his ears turn red.

 

“It’s fine, Pete, honestly.” Posner reassures him, his stomach growling obstinately.

 

“Wait, so you can’t eat pork but you **can** be gay?”

 

Posner sighs at him. “I prefer to only give my parents one heart attack at a time.”

 

Discreetly, he peers about for any sign of Dakin. Finding no trace of him, he grabs a can and locates Scripps in a corner.

 

“There’s always dessert, I guess.” He shrugs, after filling him in about the food situation.

 

Scripps’ cheeks are pink from laughing (and beer probably) and he’s wearing a silly grin - Posner notices these things a lot more these days. His stomach floods with a warm tingling that’s got nothing to do with the table of delicious smelling forbidden food– something else that’s been happening a lot recently for some reason.

 

“Yeah about that…Rudge doesn’t do pudding so Timms was in charge.”

 

“So? What did he bring?”

 

“Hash brownies and about half an ounce of coke.”

 

“Shame. Still, I could have a brownie.”

 

Scripps gives him a stern look.

 

“It’ll make you paranoid, Pos.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” He sips his drink. “Half a brownie perhaps.”

 

The music’s shit, Scripps doesn’t want to get wasted and Posner refuses to play drink monopoly on an empty stomach so they sit in their corner together and watch the others - Posner with a salad sandwich and half a brownie, and Scripps with a new journal.

 

“What _is_ this?” Posner complains, sliding down the wall to sit cross-legged on the carpet.

 

“Whitney Houston’s greatest hits I think.” Scripps says closing his journal.

 

Posner thinks he catches sight of his own name on the page, but he can’t be sure.

 

“Doesn’t sound like Dakin’s stuff.”

 

“Ah, but Dakin hasn’t arrived yet and all Rudge’s stuff is back in Oxford so he had to raid his mum’s music collection.”

 

“Did you call him?”

 

“He’s not at home.”

 

“Weird. I hope he’s ok.”

 

Next to him, Scripps sighs. “I’m sure he’s fine, Pos.”

 

 

It was Crowther’s job to sort out entertainment, which largely involved him raiding his little sister’s games cupboard at home and turning all the board games into drinking games. It’s surprisingly successful, even though drunk-monopoly doesn’t work out because new people keep joining and everyone quickly becomes too pissed to keep track of what’s going on.

 

 

In the kitchen, Akthar is demanding Rudge find him the menu for the nearest Chinese takeaway.

 

“I’m not joking, I’m so hungry I’ve lost all feeling in my legs and arms!”

 

“How comes you’re not getting Indian?” Crowther asks, drifting away from the current argument about whether or not drunk-Operation is as lame as normal Operation.

 

“One: I do eat other food. Two: my family are from Pakistan. Three: unless my mum made it all curry is shit. Four: I fancy Chinese if that’s ok with you.”

 

“I only asked.”

 

Akthar punches the number into the phone while continuing to glare menacingly. Crowther slinks away to rejoin the game, trying not to look terrified of his 5’6 hypoglycaemic school friend

 

*****

 

Dakin eventually shows up at around half ten, empty handed and wearing a stupid grin.

 

“What is this shit playing?” Dakin demands by way of hello.

 

“Kate Bush, we got sick of Genesis. You’re bringing the music remember? We’ve had to make do with Rudge’s mum’s stuff”

 

“Forgot. Sorry.” He grins.

 

“You’re four hours late! You were supposed to come and help me set up.” Rudge scolds, hands on his hips.

 

“Sorry, **_Mum_** _._ ”

 

Dakin takes off his leather jacket and flings it into a corner (where it lands on Lockwood) and stretches his shoulders, his shirt pulling tight across the chest. It looks… uncomfortably small for him.

 

Lockwood resurfaces seconds later, scowling and rubbing his head. “Dakin you prick! You’ve got keys in there!”

 

He cheers up as soon as he catches sight of his friend. “That shirt’s a bit tight across the shoulders isn’t it?” He asks, laughing.

 

“Long in the arms too.” Akthar observes, looking up from his box of noodles for a second.

 

Dakin looks down in surprise at the checked blue shirt he’s wearing. “Oh, yeah… it’s er… new.”

 

“Doesn’t look much like your usual style” Posner joins the rest of the group around Dakin.

 

“Um…My mum got it for me, didn’t want to hurt her feelings. So is there booze or what?”

 

“Did you bring any?”

 

“Sorry.” The grin doesn’t even dim.

 

Initially, most of Dakin’s conversation revolves around random facts about monasteries (these are accompanied by an even wider, stupider grin). After a while, Rudge takes advantage of his position as host to give everyone permission to punch him each time it happens. They only have to put up with three more ‘interesting’ snippets about monks before Dakin’s dead arm forces him to shut up.

 

A game of drunk-Trivial Pursuit is doomed from the start as it only leads to Dakin rattling off more history facts with a faraway look in his eye and a grin that gets stupider by the minute (the repeated reminders that they’re all taking a history degree, and either already know or don’t care about whatever he’s talking about do nothing to put him off). The game falls apart shortly after Timms ‘accidentally’ pours Fosters onto Dakin’s head and he rushes to the bathroom to fix his hair.

 

When he returns, still smelling like a brewery, Dakin sulkily joins Scripps in his corner.

 

“Still moping after Posner?”

 

“I’m not moping! I just don’t want to get pissed and drink-charades is less fun when you’re sober.” He nods towards Rudge who’s on the carpet miming swimming backstroke.

 

“Are you going to have something to eat? It’s surprisingly good and I think Rudge might be hurt if there’s loads left over.”

 

“No, I _ate_ before I came.” Dakin tells him, suggestively.

 

“Please stop winking at me.” Scripps protests weakly “I very much get the picture.”

 

“Well you’re as much fun as a wake, come and play.”

 

Ignoring his protests, Dakin drags Scripps over to the sofa, where the rest of them are now shouting a hail of incorrect guesses (and drinking after every single one) at Timms’ dodgy mime of bouncing up and down wearing a faraway look. Dakin immediately identifies it as Laurence of Arabia.

 

“You only got it because it’s nearly as gay as you!” Crowther slurs moodily.

 

*****

 

 

They do several rounds of truth or dare, mostly to get the truth out of Dakin about why he’s lying so unconvincingly, it doesn’t work because everyone chooses dare.

 

Scripps gets dared to prove he’s not uptight by doing a line of coke (he agrees after being reassured by Dakin that it really has no side effects at all, really, ‘ _just like being a little bit tipsy, honestly Scrippsy, I promise’_ ).

 

Rudge makes several prank calls to Felix, pretending to be first an auditor for a mail-order bride service and then a doctor from the GUM clinic – the fact that Mrs Felix answers the phone makes these even funnier, although, as Akthar points out, the fact that it’s midnight somewhat robs them of verisimilitude.

 

Timms unashamedly does a complete sing-along, complete with dance moves, to three of Rudge’s mum’s Abba tracks.

 

Lockwood needs no persuasion at all to snog first Dakin (good-naturedly returned), then Akthar ( _‘fuck off you dick’)_ and then to give Posner his best attempt at a lap dance, which involves dropping onto his lap like a sack of potatoes and wiggling his arse ineffectively. That one is more of an ordeal for Pos, who darts into the bathroom as soon as Lockwood stumbles to his feet declaring: “I’m hardly even pissed at all!”.

 

Nobody sees him for ten minutes and the group is split on whether he’s having a panic attack or a wank. When he emerges five minutes later looking a bit clammy no one is any the wiser.

 

Dakin tries to get everyone to play Twister with him. Everyone refuses point blank except Posner, who is a bit too enthusiastic, so he drops the idea.

 

“You do know that game’s literally just an excuse to rub up against people and get off with them later?” Crowther carps at him.

 

“Is it?” Dakin assumes a thoughtful expression, which never bodes well.

 

 

 

Once the organised fun has finished, Rudge attempts to be a good host by handing round a plate of leftover sausages.

 

“Are you taking the piss?!” Akthar demands angrily, glaring until Rudge backs away.

 

Dakin declares himself starving and manages to shove about fifteen into his mouth in five minutes in between playing hands of poker.

 

“That’s not even a record for him this week!” Crowther cackles, wiping him out with a straight flush.

 

Nobody notices that Scripps has gone back to his spot in the corner for about an hour.

 

Dakin eventually sidles over to investigate and discovers that he’s nearly filled the entire journal.

 

“Alright, Scrippsy?”

 

Scripps jumps because he’s been watching Posner out of the corner of his eye and didn’t notice Dakin walking over. He closes the book with a snap.

 

“Written a lot?”

 

“About fifty pages- it’s just thoughts really it helps me navigate my place in the world now everything’s changing and I’m not sure who I am and who I want to be you don’t you think Pos looks good this evening?” He says without taking a breath.

 

“Fantastic.” Dakin smiles.

 

He’s just about to leave when Scripps looks up at him, pupils wide. “Wait, wait Stu don’t go. You’re sexually confused you can help me!”

 

“What?” Dakin scowls as Scripps tugs him by the sleeve until he’s sitting beside him on the floor.

 

“You know sex?” He whispers (so loudly that Lockwood glances over from where he’s grabbing a few pork pies).

 

Dakin shares a smirk with Lockwood and nods.

 

“ _I did it_ and I don’t think I liked it. What does that mean? Am I broken?”

 

Dakin tilts his head, thinking. “Boy or girl?”

 

“A girl, it was her idea. She’s really pretty.” He pauses a second, his eyes going even wider “Why? Is there a difference?”

 

Dakin shares another sideways glance with Lockwood. “…Usually.”

 

“You’re laughing at me - do you think I’m gay?”

 

“– nevermind” He cuts across Dakin’s _“Yeah”_ , and goes back to scribbling furiously.

 

“You should try keeping a journal, you know, it might help you - I’ve found it’s the best way to sort out my sexual confusion - I think basically I really fancy Posner and it might be nice with him - by the way everyone knows you’re shagging Irwin.”

 

Dakin does a little double-take that Scripps finds quite satisfying even in his current state and Lockwood quits pretending not to listen in and joins them on the carpet.

 

“How do they know?”

 

“It’s super obvious, I told Timms as much and he told everyone else.”

 

Lockwood nods. “That’s how I found out” he mumbles through a mouthful of pork pie.

 

“Is that why Crowther keeps making cracks about me being gay?”

 

“No, he just thinks you’re really gay – shit! Posner’s looking! Pretend we’re talking!”

 

“We **are** talking! I can’t believe you’re _less_ fun like this”

 

 

 

On the other side of the room, Posner is giving way to his paranoia and, out of spite for how much he’s pissing him off, Akthar is regretting sharing his Chinese with him.

 

“I think Scrippsy’s writing about me! I think I’ve offended him, what if he hates me?”

 

“He doesn’t.” Akthar replies, bored as it’s the third time he’s answering the question.

 

“Why does he keep looking at me then? Dakin thinks he’s having a sexual identity crisis. Do you think that’s why?” He asks anxiously, bolting another brownie

 

Akthar rolls his eyes. “Just ask him.”

 

“But what if he isn’t?”

 

“He’ll say no.”

 

“But what if he is, though?”

 

“He’ll say yes.”

 

Timms comes over to confiscate the plate of brownies “What’s the matter, Pos?”

 

“He thinks Scripps might be gay or angry or possibly enamoured with him. It changes every time he thinks about it.”

 

“Shhhhhh. What if he hears you?”

 

“Dave, he’s on the other side of the room, next to the stereo, he can’t hear us. You need to relax and have a bit of fun.”

 

“And leave me alone.” Akthar interjects

 

“Dakin Dakin!” Posner shouts, as he spies him crossing the room.

 

“Go and find out if Scrippsy’s writing about me I think I saw my name.” He whispers loudly, grabbing another brownie while he can.

 

Dakin returns to his oldest and dearest friend with a put-upon sigh.

 

“What’s up? Pos thinks you’re writing about him, are you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah, he is.” He tells Posner

 

“Shit! Shit! I knew it! Shit!”

 

“Ask him why. No, wait! Don’t! I can’t bear to hear it!”

 

“He fancies you. He told me.”

 

“Great.” Akthar sighs, leaving to go in search of the vodka.

 

“How come you drink if you don’t eat pork?” Rudge demands of him as he pours equal amounts of vodka and Ribena into a pint glass.

 

“How come you’re suddenly an expert on my religion?”

 

“You do know that’s quite a lot, right?”

 

“Good.”

 

*****

 

“Right well I’m off ‘home’” Dakin smirks; air quotes implicit in his tone of voice. Nobody bothers to point out that he only arrived an hour and a half ago. He looks contemplatively at the twister board “Can I borrow this?”

 

“NO!” Seven voice answer in unison.

 

Shrugging he grabs his jacket and leaves.

 

“What’s that about?”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Pos.” Lockwood pats him on the back.

 

“Is there a piano?!” Scripps pipes up, grinning. “I fancy trying flight of the bumblebee.”

 

*****

 

By five o’clock Scripps and Akthar are both passed out on the sofa, sporting matching handlebar moustaches in permanent marker. The lurid purple vomit is mostly gone from the kitchen sink and a plan to interrupt Dakin’s night by prank calling him backfired when his mum answered and informed them, very angrily, that he isn’t at home and told them to sod off.

 

Rudge goes to bed half an hour later because he has a friendly match in the afternoon, telling them to please themselves as long as he can get some sleep. Crowther refuses to sleep over.

 

Posner manages to stay awake until everyone else is asleep, fuelled only by the fear of having to explain to his mum why there’s a giant indelible cock and balls drawn on his forehead. He crawls into Rudge’s parents’ bed fully clothed, squeezing between Lockwood and Timms. Timms shifts in his sleep and throws an arm and a leg over him – except for the beer breath and the loss of circulation, it’s quite nice.

 

 

Timms snores loud enough to wake the dead and Lockwood is a sleep kicker – not something Posner’s heard of before - but other than collecting an array of bruises down his shins he manages to get a decent morning’s sleep and has dreams about Scripps. Unfortunately, he’s the last to wake up and does so as Lockwood is putting the finishing touches on a giant cock drawing.

 

*****

 

Posner and Scripps stop on their way home to sit on a bench at the park. The cold air invigorates Posner – Scripps complains that he feels like his heart is trying to vomit itself out of his mouth, only it keeps getting lost and kicking his brain very hard.

 

They each clutch a takeaway coffee.

 

“My mum’s going to kill me.”

 

“Mine won’t have to, I’ll be dead before I get home.” Scripps pauses to think “Why?”

 

Posner gestures to the large – and incredibly anatomically detailed, genitalia on his cheek.

 

“Oh, I can get that off for you.”

 

“How?”

 

Scripps nods grimly. “Nail polish remover.”

 

“Do you have any?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“My sister does though. Come on, let’s get this shit off our faces.

 

*****

 

Posner perches neatly at the end of his friend’s bed, while Scripps dabs gently at his skin with freezing, acetate-soaked cotton wool.

 

The stuff smells awful but Scripps’ touch is oddly soothing against his face and Posner is a little disappointed when he declares him all cleaned up. Swapping places, Posner takes the opportunity to study his friend’s features as he tries to mimic his delicacy and efficiency. It’s not like he never realised that Scripps is hot, but he always used to be too occupied with thoughts of Dakin for it to be relevant, somehow.

 

He thinks it might be now, though.

 

“That stuff reeks” Scripps murmurs, making him jump a little.

 

“Sorry, nearly done.” He swaps the soiled cotton ball for a clean one and dabs gently around Scripps’ mouth, tracing the shape with his eyes then his fingers.

 

“Pos” Scripps whispers.

 

“Done.”

 

Not sure quite why he’s suddenly being so bold, Pos shuffles back to put some distance between them, but Scripps’s hand gently holds his in place.

 

“I know I wasn’t exactly sober, but… I meant what I said to Dakin, about – you know.”

 

Pos smiles. “I think I might too… fancy you, I mean.”

 

Neither of them moves their eyes from their joined hands as Scripps brings Posner’s fingers to his lips and kisses them.

 

Posner holds his breath, his stomach flipping.

 

Scripps turns his face away and tries to be discreet as he sticks his tongue out.

 

“Yuck" He laughs. "You taste of nail polish remover.”

 

“Sorry.” Posner laughs, the tension snapped. “There’s none on my mouth.” He grins.

 

“There is on mine.”

 

“I’ll risk it.”


End file.
